Rated
by Rui
Summary: AU : She's a television sitcom sweetheart, he is the brand new bad boy to films. Her agent wants her to get a bit dirty, his needs him to clean up-a lot.
1. Agent Agenda

Rated

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**Authoress' notes**: This is my first TDI fic. ^^ I hope you all enjoy my try! This was posted on my other account but I was blessed enough to gain access back to my older account ((this one)).

**Disclaimer: **No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made on this or any of my fanfics and they are all for entertainment purposes only.

**Thanks** goes out the magnanimous _**Miss C. Rhiannon X **_who agreed to beta my story! Thank you so much! She is also an authoress of a great deal of Courtney/Duncan stories! Please go check her profile out! :D

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Heather Clinton leaned back and crossed her arms as she narrowed her eyes on the smirking opponent sitting across from her. Manicured nails bit into her arm, just below the sleeve of her silk shirt, to prevent the string of explanatives from rolling off her tongue. No matter what, she couldn't allow her temper to best her.

"So," Heather ground out, trying to keep her voice business-polite and not business-hacked-off, "what are the figures you were talking about?"

Leshawna Green lifted her eyebrows slightly at the sudden demand, but with the smooth confidence only a person who _knew_ they were right had, she pulled out a packet of papers stapled neatly on the upper left hand corner.

Sliding it across the table, Heather picked it up and felt a cold pit open up in her stomach. It was a copy of figures, polls, and various other bits of information of _her_ client. Anything with her client usually had a lot of legal jargon and tons of red ink; these print offs were no different.

"If you will look at the second page, you'll see a total write up on your boy," Leshawna started, a pleasant smile on her face, "And I mean _total_, from his popularity, to his juvenile record— "

Heather, who had been dutifully studying the second page, snapped her attention to the other woman, "Those are _closed_ records," she bit out angrily.

Shrugging, Leshawna continued unfazed, "Either way, wanting to protect _my_ client from any possible scandal, I had to be very thorough. As you can see on the workup there, _your_ client is hot property—_at the moment_."

Amazingly, Heather's eyes narrowed further.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It _means _that unless he cleans up or at least _pretends_ to, he is going to be type-casted and, you know, bad boys are only hot until they hit a certain age."

Grumbling, Heather agreed.

"That's why I proposed this meeting, so that our two clients could grow." Leshawna tucked a fist under her chin as she leaned her elbow on the polished table top. "Now, on page five, you'll see the same work up on my client."

"There's hardly a full page," Heather commented, eyebrow raised.

"Right," she affirmed. "Your client needs to have a cleaner image to get out of the role rut, and my girl needs to shuck the squeaky clean good-girl image without sacrificing her underage fans."

Heather re-read over the other woman's client profile and mentally sighed. As much of a shark as the agent prided herself on being, it was good business sense that got her _and_ her rebellious star to the precarious top they were balancing on. Leshawna's client, Courtney Vieux, not only stayed off the sleazy tabloids, was as clean as a soap bubble, but managed to have a steady role on a hit sitcom for the past seven years.

While in Heather's corner was Duncan Drake. He was a firework, shooting to the top and being admired by all who saw him. However, fireworks died out as quickly as they burst. If Heather didn't do something to save her client's budding career, not only would he be yesterday's news but she'd also get a burn in reputation and finances.

"So we get the director to cast our clients and we have a win-win situation, right?"

"Potentially." Leshawna shrugged, inspecting her nails for any imperfection, while Heather, not wanting to show any weaknesses, glared down at the stapled papers. Tightening her jaw, she closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. If she wanted to manipulate this situation to her benefit, she couldn't lose her cool too early in the game.

When she looked up to Leshawna again, Heather had a friendly smile on her face and her eyes held not a hint of scorn or scowl.

"I will certainly have to speak with, Mr. Drake," Heather explained sweetly, picking up the papers, and tucking them away in her briefcase. In one smooth movement, she stood, extended her hand and after a firm handshake, the slender agent turned on her heels and sauntered from the room.

Leshawna leaned back in her seat and gave a deep sigh. Lulling her head back, she stared blankly at the ceiling. The meeting had gone as well as she had hoped, Heather was shaken but not desperate and by her calculation, both client and agent would make a decision within the next week.

It was easy to print up Duncan's history, both personal and screen, but it was harder to push Courtney as his saving grace. With her client wanting to rid herself of the long standing role on the sitcom, _Total Drama_, Courtney needed to use what star power and potential the actress had now to make sure she didn't become a _falling_ star.

Lifting her head from the back of the leather office chair, Leshawna quickly gathered her things and made a mental note to tell Courtney of the meeting and the probability of working with Duncan Drake. Compared to the complaints and all out scream fest her client was sure to do, she'd rather be facing jumping off a 1,000 foot cliff into shark infested waters.


	2. Dirt and Soap

**Rated**

**Chapter 01  
**

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**Authoress' Notes**: This had been posted on my other account, , that I was using because I could not access this account. Sooo same authoress, same story just different account!

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"I can't believe you're leaving, Marty!" Wailed a small, blonde haired girl as she clung to Courtney on the set of _Total Drama_. Returning the child's embrace, as scripted, Courtney called up her abilities to cry on cue, and let a few warm drops slip down her face.

"I know, Bre," the brunette said softly, "But it's time for me to go, and this is the best shot I have. I love him, and he loves me."

The 'live audience' made the appropriate 'aww' response and with a few other teary lines and goodbyes, Courtney turned and studied the set of the house longingly. With a soft tap on her shoulder, the actress turned around and with a brittle smile walked from the house allowing the door to close slowly behind her.

"_Annnnnd _CUT!" Screamed the director, tailed by an enthusiastic round of applause. Being the performer she was, Courtney came to the front of the set and bowed, blew kisses, and gave her planned speech of gratefulness.

Her best friend and manager, Bridgette, ushered her from the set to the not-so-surprise-surprise farewell party that was taking place in an empty warehouse on the studio lot. Since it was the middle of the working day, the place was brimming with well wishers, tearful goodbyers, and hopes for the best givers. In realty, they were more there for the free buffet than the actress, but Courtney couldn't hold it against them. She'd done much the same thing when she attended someone _else's_ good-bye party.

Courtney, after having her smile tightly in place for three hours, felt relief flood her as Bridgette came to her side with a slight frown.

"What's wrong?" Courtney question in a hushed voice as to not attract the attention of rumor hungry eavesdroppers.

"Leshawna just text me," the blonde whispered back as quietly, "she just got back from a meeting and says there is news."

"News?" Courtney questioned, "Good or bad?"

"Didn't say, just that it was news."

Closing her eyes, Courtney then rolled them behind the safety of her eyelids before reopening them and scanning for the nearest door. Both girls began to edge their way to the exit, trying not to attract too much attention. Thankfully, there were enough people trying to drop names and pick up others that they hardly noticed when the guest of honor bolted from her party.

"What do you think it could be?" Courtney asked, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.

Bridgette, ever the easy going, shrugged. "Maybe she got an offer for you."

Courtney picked up the pace, and all but ran to her dressing room. Stopping just before the door, she took a deep breath and reminded herself that not all news was good news. She exchanged a thumbs-up with Bridgette before she opened the door and both women entered.

"Hey, girl," came a familiar voice. Leshawna was sipping something from a Starbrew cup and reclining in Courtney's make-up chair, one leg crossed over the other and her expression as confident and calm as it always seemed to be.

"Hey, Leshawna," Courtney started, trying her best not to grab the other female and shake whatever news it was from her. "You wanted me?"

"Mm-hmm," the agent replied, taking another long drink.

Bridgette and Courtney glanced at one another and inwardly sighed. The dark skinned female was dragging this out. While the blonde slid down to the floor in a crossed legged position and arms crossed lightly against her chest as she leaned back against the door, Courtney walked over and dropped down on her neatly kept couch. She slumped forward until her elbows were pressed on top of her knees and tucked her hands under her chin.

Her dressing room was typical of a higher ranked star. There was a small sitting area, a prep area, and a private four piece bathroom. Everything was decorated by the small framed actress and painstakingly coordinated. The cleanliness was something she over saw herself, causing the maids nearly weep when her dressing room was scheduled for cleaning.

"So, what's the news?"

_This_, Leshawna thought, putting her cup on a napkin on the vanity's top, _is where I have to earn my pay_.

"I got you a _potential_ role in a movie," the agent stated plainly.

Bridgette sat up straight, as did Courtney. Tampering down her joy, she reminded herself there were a variety of movie roles. Some of those roles she had no interest in.

"What's the big deal about _that_? The studio hits me with those all the time," the brunette coolly played off.

The agent swiveled the chair to face her client, crossed her arms, and lifted an eyebrow. It was something that those who knew Leshawna referred to as her 'diva mode'.

"I know that, I also know that you've turned _all_ of them down." That statement ended with a pointed stare but Courtney wasn't disturbed. "And this _isn't_ from Waterker Studios." Her client perked up at that information. Waterker Studios was known for its wholesome, family oriented, kid-friendly entertainment. Unfortunately, it was also well known that stars from its movies or television shows tended to blend into obscurity once they hit a certain age.

"Then who is it?" Anticipation crept into her voice, but the starlet couldn't contain herself anymore. There were only a few precious roles outside of Waterker that she tried out for and so far, no one called her back with _good _news.

"Just a little studio called," she used a finger to plug each ear, and finished, "Camp and Wawanakwa."

The shrieks both females let out made Leshawna wince back, even though she was prepared for it. Both of the other women had their hands on the other's shoulders, jumping in circles, and screaming in sheer elation. It would take a few heartbeats for both to calm down, that or security would come to see what the noise was about.

Camp and Wawanakwa Studios, also referred to as CWS, was compiled of the craziest batch of professionals in the entertainment industry. Their blockbusters outweighed the flops by a wide margin, and even the flops were well done, just not popular. It was known that to get signed on with the studio could assure the actor or actress a healthy dose of popularity, regardless of their current status in the public eye.

That was why any agent worth their salt and ten percent kept an ear to the studios doors in hopes of hearing about an upcoming role for whoever they were trying to promote. Leshawna was no different.

When the girls started to need to catch their breath, the agent dropped the next _good _news fact into their ears.

"And it'll be directed by Chris McLean." There was a heartbeat of pure, blissful silence before another banshee screamfest ensued.

Shaking her head, the woman wondered when she'd remember to bring earmuffs to these 'happy moment' meetings.

Chris McLean was just like CWS, fully and outright insane with his techniques and ideas. He specialized in action, dabbled in drama, and cut his teeth on comedy. Most places would have never given the director a second glance, but he was also an expert at getting real emotions out of his actors, making the action scenes in his movies mouth-dropping awesome while keeping the script quirky.

Once Bridgette screamed herself into a coughing fit, Leshawna felt it safe enough to keep trudging forward to the _bad_ news, ears unplugged. As Courtney fetched a glass of water for her friend and aided her to the couch, the agent shifted, uncrossed and recrossed her legs before continuing.

"There _is_ one," the woman searched for the proper word, "_condition_ though." Courtney, who had been lightly patting Bridgette on the back, looked up, a curious expression of concern and sheer pleasure in her face.

"What's that? Not a nude scene I hope," the starlet frowned.

"If only it was that easy, girl," Leshawna mumbled under her breath, "No, it's who you'll be co-starring with."

Rolling her eyes, Courtney gave the woman, a true saint in her dark eyes, a reassuring smile.

"I don't care if I have to co-star with a criminally insane, cannibal Sasquatch on steroids! As long as it's a CWS and McLean!" Courtney nearly swooned and both of the women on the couch squealed again and hugged each other.

"Well, that's a relief." Leshawna replied, scratching the back of her neck, "At least about the criminal part." The hugging stopped, as did the excited noises.

"What?" Bridgette questioned for both of them. "You're joking right?"

"Yeah, you're joking, right, Leshawna?" Courtney's lips twitched as a nervous smile tried to stay in a steady, positive line.

Biting her lip and giving her own, less-than-reassuring smile, "Well, it is technically a _closed_ file, but he was a juvenile delinquent."

Though the agent tried to make it seem unimportant, she knew that to Courtney, the goody-two-shoes and by the book girl, any type of misdemeanor was critical.

"Okay," Bridgette cut in with a grin and an upbeat tone, "So it's his past, that's a good thing! Maybe he is reformed and totally respectable?"

Courtney, who was still stunned and in an insulted silence, blinked silently at Leshawna. Shaking her head slowly, the agent reached into her purse that was sitting on the vanity top next to her coffee, and plucked out a folded magazine. She studied the cover before flipping it around to show her client and the manager.

"Duncan Drake."

Bridgette's mouth hung open slightly, as the cover stared back at her. She had heard of the man, but never thought too much of him, since he was new and in movies and her employer was seasoned and a TV star. So it was with batted breath that she watched her best friend slowly stand and somewhat robotically walk to the dark haired woman.

Taking the proffered publication from Leshawna, Courtney stared with wide, dark eyes at the half dressed man in the photo.

His head was tilted slightly forward and cocked a few degrees to the side. He had thick black hair with a few streaks of green, a smirk that screamed of his enjoyment of all things naughty and illegal, and beautiful teal colored eyes. His shirt was off allowing his washboard stomach to be visually gobbled up while the waist of his jeans rode low enough to allow fan girls to salivate over the slim hips. It was his handcuffed hands that were raised to his chin that stood out the most to her. Even though he probably wasn't flexing, he had the body of an athlete, the face of a rebel—and the record of a criminal.

Even the magazine had _'So Good, So Bad'_ as the caption across the bottom of the cover.

Sure, all stars and starlets had _something_ in their closet to hide—every one of them but _her_. She prided herself on following the rules, schedules, and scripts for all of her acting career. The brunette strove to be someone labeled as easy and capable with which to work in order that she would be more appealing for roles. All her life she had been the 'Debbie Downer' because she refused to cave under peer pressure and social stress that being in the lime-light caused. To work with someone who, apparently, was _known_ to be a—a _bad_ influence was making the actress' stomach turn into knots.

"I—you—_him_—," was all Courtney managed to get out of her mouth, while holding up the magazine and shaking it for emphasis.

Prepared for _just_ this reaction, Leshawna stood to her full height plus the three inch bonus her heels offered her, and looked down on Courtney.

"It is a _good_ deal," she began, the sharpness of her voice jarring the shorter woman out of her shock enough to listen. "He is guaranteed to make this movie appeal to a lot of women who just want to look at him, and a lot of men who think they look _like_ him." Courtney, for lack of verbal abilities, audibly snapped her mouth shut. "And _you_ will be able to get into a new sphere of roles if you show the world that you aren't just some TV trained kid actress."

The brunette narrowed her eyes and Leshawna started the mental countdown.

_In three, two, one—_

"_You have me playing next to a convict_!" Courtney started with a piercing tone before it lowered as she gripped her hair, magazine and all. "A _playboy_ convict! He has been on every single rag ever printed! The paparazzi cling to him like bugs to a windshield! He devours women like gum! He is a _bad_ influence! A _punk_!"

As the starlet continued to list any real and imagined issues with the male, Leshawna crossed her arms, cocked out one side of her hips and waited for the rant to come to an end, either by Bridgette being able to calm the frantic law-abiding woman down or Courtney passing out due to lack of oxygen.

Either way at this point would be fine—but the agent just _didn't_ have time for it.

Hands on hips, the woman was in full battle mode.

"Look, you are only going to be _acting_ with him, not anything else. You _can't_ absorb his reputation, but if you turn this down, I can promise you that Heather Clinton _will_ let it out that you turned down a hot item because you thought he was _beneath_ you. You get a stuck-up, bad rep and you know what that means? _That _means the end of your career."

"And also," Leshawna pointed a finger and made a semi-circle, cutting off any rebuttal that her client might have been able to formulate. "_You_ were the one who wanted to get into more _mature_ roles, and let me tell you this, honey. Adults suck it up and get the job _done_. So you _are_ going to do this movie, assuming that Drake and McLean agree to you. Do you understand?" With that, she crossed her arms and lowered her eyelids, much like her mother used to do to her when she didn't want to eat her broccoli.

Bridgette had wisely taken up an interest in a spot on the wall and half-hid herself behind Courtney. The actress stood still, one hand balled into a tight fist and the other crushing the magazine in its grip, as she clamped her jaw so tightly it hurt. Trying to get a hold of her temper and not start screaming for her lawyers, Courtney took a few and forced deep breaths.

"_But—_"

"Do. You. Understand? Yes or No." Leshawna lowered one shoulder and leaned forward to Courtney.

"_Yes_," the brunette hissed, turned, and stomped out of her dressing room, throwing the magazine down as hard as she could upon her exit.

Once the little spitfire had left, the agent and manager both gave deep sighs. One for a hard job completed, the other for realizing what a nightmare of a job laid before her in the months to come.

Xx

Heather was about to insert her key into the lock when, instead, she decided to test her theory. Putting one manicured fingernail on the door she gave it a light push and the door opened slightly. She made a rather dark mental note to remind Duncan or DJ _or_ Geoff, _again_, to lock the door to the condo.

The agent shoved her purse up her arm, grabbed the handle that was sticky for reasons she'd rather not know, and put her right shoulder and left hand to the door. With a grunt and most of her strength Heather managed to move the door, hearing as the clutter and trash from behind the door was forced off to the side.

Once there was enough space for her to squeeze through, she did so and with the back of her heel, nudged the door shut. _She_ remembered to lock the deadbolt.

Rolling her eyes and jamming her fists on either side of her hips, the woman eyed the condo with distaste. The place was expansive and expensive, in the trendiest building and smack in the center of the hottest place to be in the city. Wall-to-wall hardwood floor, with floor to ceiling windows that spanned the entire side of the building and an open concept layout made this a dream home to many a person.

But to Duncan Drake, Heather mused annoyed, it was a trash dump. Pizza boxes were piled up against one wall, take out bags and boxes filled up the supposed dining area, the kitchen had bottles from colas and alcohol planted on every flat surface in various stages of full. There were CD cases, upturned DVDs, clothes, and everything else scattered about in a true chaotic fashion.

Sometimes Heather wondered if she was more of a babysitter than an agent to this over grown child.

Picking her way through the junk to where she knew her client liked to hide, she was able to safely make it to the large living area. There were overstuffed, leather couches all facing a massive 90 inch LCD television that was used for only two reasons: video games and movies.

Not surprised in the least, she spotted the black haired head of her client resting on the arm of one of his couches, while on another was a tan cowboy hat covering the face of his personal chauffeur, Geoff. It was only four in the afternoon; of _course_ Drake wouldn't be up.

Knowing it was pointless to be quiet since a keg could be dropped on the male and not bother him, she primly made her way until she towered over him. He was face first in one of the theoretically decorative pillows, wearing a faded black shirt, and dark blue jeans that were most likely unbuckled and unzipped.

At least he had his pants _on_ this time.

Taking out her phone, she tapped the screen to dial Duncan's cell phone. A few seconds after the first ring started to sound on her end, she heard the very loud, highly obnoxious death metal ringtone he'd assigned her.

After ten seconds, Geoff groaned.

"Dude, aren't you going to answer that?"

Duncan grunted, blindly groped for his phone, found it, and then promptly chucked it across the room. Whether it was bad luck or incredibly good aim, the phone splashed into the aquarium with the three dead goldfish and muck turning the tank black.

Heather's eyebrow ticked in annoyance at the blatant waste of money and the rudeness of being utterly ignored. That was the prime reason she rarely bothered with phone calls and decided that a hands on approach when dealing with Duncan was necessary.

Clearing a small spot to put her purse and high heels, Heather then cracked her knuckles and popped her neck on both sides before bracing one foot on the armrest, next to his head. Grabbing two fists full of his t-shirt material, Heather made her black belt father proud.

With no effort, she hauled the male forward, falling back as he came to her, jabbed one foot into his belly, and flipped him across the room in a dazed, flailing mess.

"What the _hell_!" Duncan came up yelling from the pile of trash and clothes he landed in. "_Heather_," he growled, clambering to his feet.

"Oh, hello," she greeted cutely as she neatly stepped back into her heels.

Geoff, who had taken the hat from in front of his face at the first surprised yelp Duncan let out, was now holding his stomach, laughing as his 'boss' clenched his fists and glared at the petite powerhouse.

Sighing off his anger, Duncan bypassed the woman and headed toward his kitchen. With a great deal of luck, he'd be able to find something semi-edible. Rummaging through the refrigerator, he was partly successful. Between the rotting tomatoes and weird, green plant life growing on the second shelf, he found a bottle of something that still qualified as stomach worthy.

"So what are you doing here?" Duncan wanted to know as he opened several drawers in search for a clean dish clothe or napkin, something to clean off the lipstick on the rim of the bottle he found.

"I wanted to see if I needed to hire crew to excavate you from your filth, or if you'd finally been strangled by the stench that is its own life form in this dump," Heather sneered.

"Cute," Duncan replied, rolling his eyes. "But knowing you, you only care if I'm alive or not when you _want_ me."

Not ignorant to the double meaning, Heather glared at her client. Oh, he was a full flirt when it came to females. Even if he considered it harmless, it irked the woman that he saw her as another plaything and not an important _partner_ in his career.

"You are going to be co-starring with Courtney Vieux," Heather stated firmly, eyeing the man who was now chugging whatever was in the green bottle. "You _do_ know who she is, don't you?"

Finishing the drink, he threw the empty bottle in the general direction of the door before using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

"Maybe," he shrugged as a smirk spread across his lips, "Wasn't she the centerfold in _BunnyGirl's _March issue?"

Heather promptly face-palmed, dragging her hand down the length of her face as she growled at the still smug man.

"I think I've heard of her," Geoff piped up, joining the duo in the kitchen area. His magenta (it was _not_ pink) shirt hung open to display his ripped stomach and chest, and Heather noted that at least _he_ knew how to work the zipper on his khaki shorts—Duncan still hadn't zipped up and thank goodness he started to wear boxers.

"_Everyone_ has heard of her that has a teenager or younger living in their house," Heather snapped.

Yanking open her purse, she grabbed a neatly folded teen magazine she purchased before trekking to the condo. Marching over to where the star was leaned against the counter, she shoved the magazine against his chest, waited for him to grab it before turning on her heels and away from the man.

"Where's DJ?"

"At the shack," both men answered absently, too engaged with the flipping through the magazine.

Huffing, Heather managed to not get stuck to the floor or trip over the garbage as she made her way to the door, with a sharp warning of Duncan needing to be dressed and presentable in thirty minutes; she slammed the door shut. Leaning against the smoothed, painted metal of the door, Heather let out a sigh.

Shaking her head, she took the five steps to the _other_ condo Duncan owned in the building. One was dubbed 'the pad' and the other 'the shack'. The Pad was the wreck of a hovel she'd just been in while the Shack, well, the Shack didn't live up to its name.

One chime of the doorbell, and a minute later the door opened to the broad smiling DJ Paquette, Duncan's manager, with his pet bunny sitting in the crook of his arm.

"Heather!" he greeted cheerfully, moving out of the way to let her through. "It's been a few, what brings you around?"

"I'll tell everyone when the little monster gets over here, okay?"

DJ shrugged and shut the door after her, announcing that he was going to attempt to make some snack foods. Whether it was for human or hare, he didn't specify.

Slipping off her shoes, the agent let a contended breath out as she stepped on the clean, plush carpet that felt like heaven on her feet. The Shack was kept tidy and perfect for the sake of image. No one, absolutely _no one_, was allowed to enter the Shack who wasn't part of the Drake inner clique or part of an interview crew. The Pad was where the men could be boys and where they could drag in whatever riffraff they wanted.

While the dark haired woman situated herself in one of the vibrant orange sofas, she waited for the thirty minutes to pass.

Thirty-six minutes later, a cleaner Duncan and less exposed Geoff entered into the clean, odor free condo. Like a bee to a flower, the actor made a line to his agent, threw the magazine beside her, crossed his arms, and stared at her.

"She sounds like a freakin' prig."

"She's Waterker Studio's golden child," Heather explained, not even opening her eyes, "and has been for _years_, so if she seems like that, she's earned the right to be."

"Then why would I _ever_ be caught on the same set as her? Wouldn't one of us burst into flames?" Duncan joked, dropping down across from Heather.

"Most likely, but that's why they have people hired to carry fire extinguishers, especially with _this_ director."

Heather was a professional puppet master and knew what words would get which puppet to dance. Duncan, she had realized early on, wasn't one to seek out trouble as much as he was too curious for his own good and somehow always ended _up_ in trouble.

"He some type of pyro?"

"No, well, possibly but he _is_ some type of film genius—Chris McLean."

Geoff let out a low whistle from the breakfast bar and a 'wow' from DJ came from the kitchen.

"That man is _awesome; _he did_ Total Action_ last summer. It was mind-altering awesome."

"I never saw it," DJ admitted. The blonde then decided to go over the movie and all the scenes, as well as the reasons, that DJ should see it.

Duncan side-glanced at his friends before narrowing his deep teal eyes on the agent.

"So why does he want me with _her_? He could pair me with someone who isn't so—virtuous," the black haired male spat out the last word like sour milk.

Scoffing, Heather cracked open one eye to study him, "Do you even _know_ what that word means?"

Glaring, he waited for a _real_ answer. Heather was a snake. She was clever, crafty, and able to scare the crap out of most people in the Western hemisphere. Also, she couldn't cook and was a chatty drunk, but that was beside the point.

"He hasn't made his final decision _yet_, but Courtney's agent and I both agree that teaming the two of you up is the best way to convince him. You're what's 'in' and she's a well known, steady celebrity."

Duncan crossed his arms against his chest, leaned back, and stretched his legs out, crossing one ankle over the other.

"So you're saying that I get a big juicy paycheck for hanging out with little Miss Priss for a few months?"

Heather nodded, "That and a big leap in popularity."

In Duncan's world, things were kept simple. Popularity meant more work, work meant more money, money meant more parties, parties meant more _women,_ and women equaled more fun. Everyone who ever met him knew he _loved_ fun and fun in his world was synonymous with women in black lace underwear. Maybe with skulls on them, too. And a whip.

As the far away, somewhat lustful light glazed her client's eyes, Heather rolled hers and pulled out her phone.

"I guess that means I should set up a meeting?"

Duncan gave a brief smile, not really hearing her, and let out a deep, half laugh.

_Men_, was all Heather could hiss in her mind as she pulled up Leshawna's number and hit dial.


	3. Double Dealing

**Rated**

**Chapter 02  
**

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**Authoress' Notes**/**Warning**: Okay, so, just so those reading who might take offense, I am going to warn that there will be minor swearing. The words _hell_, _damn_, and _crap_ might not seem like anything major, and though I would have liked to, I can't seem to write a convincing Duncan without the use of _some_ language. I _refuse_ to push to the, er, higher rated curse words. So, this is the warning.

* * *

"Why did we have to be _early_?" Duncan complained as Heather and he sat in the backseat of his dark green Rolls-Royce Phantom.

"Because I want you to make a decent impression," Heather replied simply, checking her make-up and hair in the small compact she carried. She knew the star better than to hope to make a _good_ impression, so as long as he didn't end up face first in a fountain with his pants down around his ankles, she'd be happy.

However, Duncan was nearly pouting. Not only had he been forced to wake up before noon, but he was strong armed into wearing dark dress slacks, black shined boots (he didn't own any other foot wear except boots and Converses—much to DJ and Heather's dismay) and a royal purple dress shirt. He had done what he could to make him seem more like _him_ rather than the Ken doll Heather wanted him to look like.

The boots had been the first thing. He also undid the first three buttons of his shirt to show more of his neck and a peek at his chest, and secured a thick black leather cord necklace with a quarter-sized silver skull hanging from it.

It had been five days since the initial proposal. Four days since Heather called to confirm the decision with Leshawna. Three days from contacting CWS and McLean's office to try and arrange a meeting and only twenty-four hours since McLean's assistant called both agents back to confirm a time and date.

"But I'm going to be making the _wrong_ impression to show up _on time_. It'll make them think I'm _always_ on time."

_Snap_.

"For McLean, you _will_ be," Heather stated as she neatly tucked away her compact in her purse.

With a snort, Duncan crossed his arms and jerked his head to glower out the window.

"We won't only be meeting the director today, but also the leading lady as well as her agent and manager," Heather stated as she smoothed out any wrinkles from her tailored dark red jacket and pale green skirt.

With her preparation complete, she slipped out the green and black silk tie she sneaked into her purse while at the Shack. There were very few things that Duncan Drake truly hated and even less that he feared. One, for some reasons that only made sense to _him_, was any and all Celine Dion standees; the other was, well, Heather armed with a tie.

Choke someone _once_ with a too-tight double Windsor knot and they ended up with an unhealthy phobia. Go figure.

Slyly, the woman tucked the silk garment under her left thigh. There was no need to spook him until it was necessary and with the new rules she was about to implement, it _would _be necessary.

"There are several _other_ things I want you to do," Heather started sweetly. The nice tone was ruined by the smug grin she sported; it only broadened when she noted Duncan's shoulders tensing; if his pit-bull of an agent was playing the nice girl card, he was _in_ for it.

Teal eyes scanned the door for the lock and mentally cursed. Of _course_ Heather would order the damn car with childproof doors. No inner locks, no way to escape.

He was _so_ in for it.

In his growing panic, the male turned his frantic eyes to the front seat to seek help. Geoff was driving and contently singing along with the radio. DJ was riding shotgun bopping his head along with the beat. Both were completely ignorant of Duncan's budding distress. Shouting at them would be useless, since Heather also ordered the Plexiglas partition that was installed directly behind the front seats.

It was with a cold feeling when he realized Heather created this car to be a cage. _His_ cage.

Turning his attention back to the female, he leaned away from her when her pleasant smile greeted him.

"Now that I have your attention," she said, still in the imitation of a pleasant tone, "Let's discuss what you will and will not do while at this lunch."

Oh, he did _not_ like rules. Rules were thick, heavy links on a chain that weighed him down. He was a free spirit meant to blow in the wind like a leaf—or something like that.

The woman pointed to her face and sternly stated, "First, all females have faces. You will only look at the _face_ when you look at them. _Faces _are not found in the bra. So do _not_ stare at the chest or try to look downa shirt or bra to find a _face_."

He gave her a dark look in response, rested his elbow on the door handle, and tucked a fisted hand under his chin. In his mind, he heard the _clink_ of a link being added to the short leash Heather fooled herself into believing she kept him on.

"You will _not_ make any inappropriate remarks to Vieux _or_ her tag alongs." Heather tucked a piece of errant hair behind her ear and huffed, "The last thing we need is yet _another_ sexual harassment lawsuit hitting the courts and newspapers."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "That woman was all into it until her dad caught her flirting with me," he muttered. "How was I to know she was the police chief's daughter?"

"_Also,_" Heather pointed a finely manicured, red painted fingernail directly at his face, "_no touching_."

Batting her hand away he as he straightened up and took a breath preparing to stick up for himself, and Heather almost, _almost_ grabbed the tie but instead cut him off using words.

"You don't need another _assault_ on your record!" She cocked her head to the side and gave a devil's grin. "Remember what happened to the guy from _Boxers_."

"He was in a _dress_!" Duncan protested. "What the hell was I supposed to do when there was something under there I wasn't expecting?!"

"It was a _gay_ bar," she reminded him smugly.

"I didn't _know _that. I was drunk when Geoff and DJ dumped me there," he grumbled, slouching back down into his seat. "And why all the b.s. rules anyway?"

"Because you know the things that I just mentioned? _Leshawna Green_ knows them, too. In fact, she knows _all_ your little misdemeanors before _and_ after you hit eighteen."

The black haired star gaped at the woman. "All that was handled! And under the table!" He protested hotly. "How did this _Leshawna Green_ find out about any of it?"

From the way Heather's jaw tightened and the heavy way she exhaled through her nose, Duncan decided to keep the name 'Leshawna Green' on his mental Rolodex for next time he wanted to mess with Heather's pretty little head or overly grown ego.

"_She _is as manipulative and underhanded as I am, but she does it by being _honest_," Heather growled before taking in a deep breath and waving her hand as if to clear the air. "But she isn't the prime problem, your interactions with Vieux _is_."

"Yeah yeah," Duncan waved her off, slumping further into his seat, idly readjusting one of his shirt cuffs.

Heather clicked her tongue as she slipped the bit of silk from underneath her thigh. As he was staring at the window, she carefully twined the ends around her hands.

"Whoa!" Geoff jerked the wheel, straightening the car as it shifted to one side unexpectedly.

"What was _that_?" DJ quickly looked out the window and the side mirrors to make sure there weren't bits of flying rubber coming from the tires. Turning down the stereo from eardrum-busting loud to barely audible, both males' eyes rounded as a string of curses were heard between the _thumps_, _bangs_, and occasional scream of pain.

DJ started to turn, to see what the two in the back were doing and which body they might have to bury, when Geoff put a hand on his shoulder.

"Dude, you do _not_ want to look back there," the blonde insisted.

"But it sounds like Duncan needs help," the ever tender-hearted manager pointed out.

"Do _you_ want to take Heather on?" Geoff glanced over at his friend. "Do you get paid enough to deal with _her_?"

Eyes shooting straight forward, his hand slowly turned the dial, jacking up the music once again.

While in the backseat, Heather had straddled her star, secured the tie tightly around his neck with the knot half done as he helplessly clawed at the silk. Heather growled, grey eyes flashing.

"This is probably the biggest opportunity you will _ever_ get," she lashed out, tightening the silk around his throat until he was choking enough to be slight of breath. "I don't want _you_ to screw this up for me. You land a McLean with CWS, and your worth will triple, and so will my commission!" Duncan, who was red in the face, gasped at her. "You better _behave_ yourself, do you understand me?" She brought her face until their noses were merely a handbreadth apart. "_No one_ messes with my money. Got it?"

Wanting air, the male would have agreed to nearly anything. Nodding adamantly, Heather sniffed and loosened the tie, and with on finger, unhooked the knot and after tucking the neckwear into her purse, she primly sat back on the seat.

Duncan lay prone on the floorboard, sucking in air, holding his sore neck with both hands, and staring at the ceiling. He laid there until the car came to a stop. An attendant opened the car door, allowing the two to step out. The man didn't even bat an eye when Duncan crawled to the pavement, before clambering to his feet. The matrdee showed DJ, Duncan, and Heather to their table with a chiseled smile.

A blonde girl introduced herself, handed out menus, and wanted to know if they wanted an appetizer while they waited.

Not trusting his agent not to take off a high heel and render him incapable of ever having children, Duncan angled his chair so she saw more of his back then his side or front. As the waitress requested to know what she could bring each of them, Duncan sighed and gave her an earnest look.

"What's the strongest drink you serve before noon?"

* * *

She never laid eyes on the man, but as of 11:23 that morning, Courtney Emilie-Claire Barlow Vieux was too fond of Chris McLean.

With her manager and agent flanking her, the starlet had strolled into _Chloë's_ for their meeting with McLean _and_ Drake. Always having the opinion that to be on time was to be late and to be early was to be on time, Courtney was over twenty minutes early.

Leshawna informed the matrdee who they were supposed to be meeting, and in return the other woman quirked her lips into a grin. She reached under her podium, produced a sealed envelope and handed to the dark skinned woman.

'_Sorry, but could you meet us at new restaurant, S'up?_

_Thanks!_

_C. McLean'_

For ten solid minutes after the women left the _first_ restaurant, Courtney ranted about her dislike of disorderly and dysfunctional people who had no consideration for other people's schedules. That if she was late and got a reputation of being late because of _one_ indecisive director she would sue him for defamation of character! Not to mention she's also talk to her lawyers if emotional damage could be tacked on to the law suit.

Bridgette had one ear bud popped into the ear furthest from Courtney, her music up, and lost herself in the songs. Leshawna scrolled through her e-mails and text messages, opting to outright ignore her exasperated starlet.

It wasn't until they pulled up _S'up_ that Courtney went quiet, tightly crossed her arms, and scrunched her face up in anger. The restaurant's valet politely opened the back door to the limo and waited for the ladies to step out.

"I am _not_ leaving the car until I _know_ that he is in there," Courtney stated coldly. "He already made me _late_; I don't want to be _later_ if we have to go somewhere _else_."

Leshawna rolled her eyes and slid her phone into her purse as she announced that she'd go check to make sure there wasn't another envelope waiting.

Once the valet shut the door, Courtney took a deep breath and coached herself mentally. This was what she would have to put up with if she wanted to be a movie star, her temper and threat of suing wasn't something most directors or studios would put up with for long.

With the silent lecture firmly understood, the woman turned to her friend.

"Bridgette," Courtney spoke, gently touching her manager's arm. The other woman turned to look, a slim blonde eyebrow raised. "I need you to do me a favor."

"Okay?" Confusion crept over her mind and leaked into her voice. What the brunette might ask was a complete mystery. Sure, they acted as the emergency-call-from-home caller when either of them had a date they were trying to get out of, but this wasn't a date. This was a _meeting. _

"If I look like I'm about to blow my top, will you fake having to go to the bathroom?" Courtney's dark brown eyes grew bigger, much like a puppy begging for a bite from their master's plate.

"How is my leaving going to cool you down?" Bridgette questioned, honestly lost.

"Take me with you! Girls go in sets, you know that," the starlet replied, rolling her eyes.

Puffing out a breath, Bridgette shrugged, "Sure thing."

There was a light knock on the door, and when the blonde pushed the button to lower the tinted window, the valet ducked down and smiled.

"Miss Green wished for me to inform you that Mr. McLean is here and that you may come in."

"Thanks," Bridgette smiled and rolled the window back up, once finished, the valet opened the door for them to exit. "Time to put the smile on, jolly rancher."

Courtney gave a flittering smile at her friend's old nickname for her, took a deep breath and stepped out of the limousine.

Leshawna met them in the foyer of the building with her easy going smile on and her arms crossed lightly over her chest.

"McLean is running late," she informed them, to which Courtney nearly snarled. "But he said to go ahead and hunt out Madam Dracula and her minion."

Both of the other women blinked.

"I can only assume he means Heather Clinton and Duncan Drake," the black woman replied with indifference. Turning, she sashayed away from them, toward the dining area.

The brunette and blonde turned to each other, stared blankly at each other before facing forward and following in the agent's footsteps.

* * *

Heather angrily slapped her phone on the table, leaned back in her chair, and glared at the device as if it was the cause of all the ills in the world. Duncan, who had been stabbing a butter knife between his fingers, stopped, much to DJ's relief, and stared at the woman.

"_He_ is going to be even _later_," she groused. "But he said that, 'Cinderella and her fairy godmother should be along shortly'."

Duncan snorted at the reference and DJ raised his eyebrows as he quietly chewed on a bread stick. . About to start again on his time-passing activity, saving his complaining about being at the restaurant since _ten thirty_, he paused when Heather's expression went even darker.

"They're here," she explained with icy venom in her voice.

DJ had to turn around to see, while Duncan tipped to the side to look past him and nearly fell over when he caught sight of a deeply tanned angel.

"_That's_ her?" Duncan whispered as his eyes enlarged as if to take in as much as he could of woman standing at the threshold of the restaurant's dining area.

Next to her came a slender blonde whose light skin made the brunette's skin seem even more golden. Wide dark brown eyes gave her an air of innocence that was played up by the lightly applied make-up. Her hair was a beautiful light chocolate color with thick honey toned highlights and was twisted to the back with a bright red flower pinning it to one side of her head.

As the duo began to move, the male took copious mental notes on the lean female form approaching.

The flower's vibrant red matched the shade of lipstick she wore that made her lips shine and welcoming. A soft smile gingerly appeared as the blonde pointed in Duncan's direction, he could almost feel himself start to drool.

Her shoulders were bare, showing off the slender and long line of her neck and collarbones. The cream color strapless dress she wore had a muted pattern in it and fit snug to her chest while emphasizing her trim waist. The skirt belled slightly, ending just at mid-thigh and was hemmed with a bright red lace making the outfit a daytime friendly rather than a night time playful.

Following the line of her body, a half smile played on his lips to discover she had nicely toned legs, and completed her outfit with a pair of patent leather peep toe stilettos in the same shocking red as the flower and lipstick.

Either the girl knew how to dress herself or had hired someone that knew how to dress her, whichever it was; Duncan was thanking his lucky stars for the dress and those killer heels.

She might have portrayed a teenager on the show, but the way her hips moved, the smooth curves of her body, and the way she carried herself all gave silent verification that she was a _woman_.

Which begged the question: how in hell was he supposed to behave himself with _her_ sitting at the same table? It was like telling a dog not to eat a T-bone steak! Asking the coyote to stop chasing the road runner! Like asking a DJ not to say—

"_Ow!_" Duncan yelped, glaring at Heather as he rubbed his smarting calf.

"_Stand up_," she commanded through gritted teeth, as she smoothly rose. "_They're coming_."

Glaring at her for good measure, the star climbed to his feet.

"She did _not_ look like that in the magazine you gave me," he whispered accusingly, totally taken by the graceful, yet alluring movements of the woman as she was approached.

"That's because that magazine is for school aged _kids_, they couldn't have her in a string bikini."

"She could have worn a school uniform," he absently stated, shrugging, "You know, the kind with a way too-tight, little white button-down shirt and a plaid mini—_Ow_!" Duncan's train of thought was derailed when Heather gave the back of his head an upward slap.

It was good thing his hair was naturally black; otherwise the permanent bruise he was sure her constant slaps brought him would be clearly seen.

Courtney's eyebrows rose as she stopped a few feet from the table to see the famous actor rubbing the back of his head and muttering something about witches and where their brooms were lodged. A conversation, she gathered, she wanted to have no part in.

Leshawna was the first to reach the table, and extended her hand to Heather. As was appropriate, both agents had put on their game faces and in the grace of good manners, introduced their party members to everyone.

When it came time for the two actors to be introduced, Courtney forced a pleasant smile and reached out her hand. The man, instead of giving her a firm or limp fish handshake, smoothly flipped her hand over, leaned down and brushed his lips against the inside of her wrist.

Yanking her hand back and to her chest as if he has just dropped acid on her skin, Courtney gawked at the audacity of the man who had slipped down another few spots in her dislike of him (not that he had been terribly high to begin with).

"Pleasure to meet you," Duncan purred to the starlet, completely comfortable to forget about everyone else in the place until a low growl caught his ear. Remembering the threat of ties, Heather, his pricey Rolls Royce _cage _and the lengthy ride back to the Pad, the male straightened up.

The waiter quickly pulled out the chair for each lady and took their requests for drinks. After the boy scampered off to fetch the refreshments, awkward being a living thing and invited itself to the table.

Bridgette sipped her water, Duncan smirked at Courtney who was tapping her finger on her thigh under the table, and Heather was crossed-armed and just cross, while Leshawna studied the group one by one. DJ was the only one brave enough to attempt conversation with the safety net of having to impress the potential director.

"So," the tall man started, giving a smile to Courtney, "what made you get into acting?"

It was something that she had answered a thousand times, a question she had long ago conquered but with the jail fly just _staring_ at her, she blanked on the words.

"I uh, I was always the lead in school plays, and so when _Total Drama_ was casting, Leshawna's mother got me an audition."

Bridgette took the cue to smile at Duncan and asked the same question.

"I was scouted after they found out that I wasn't only hot but a good liar, too," the man answered without a single hint of shame.

Courtney coughed into her hand that sounded suspiciously like 'criminal' but it was overshadowed by the light near-growl Heather let roll in the back of her throat. From that point, the group fell between strained silence and forced conversation. During which, Bridgette dragged Courtney to the ladies' room several times. As the drinks were refilled for the fifth time, all water or tea (much to Duncan's dismay), the star's agent couldn't take it any longer.

"This is _stupid_," Heather stated, no longer attempting to hide her anger. "He is almost _two hours_ late!"

Leshawna, who had been filing her nails, stopped, and with a hiked eyebrow looked at the other agent.

"Would you stop with the drama queen routine, the meeting was supposed to be at eleven thirty, it is only a twenty after twelve."

"His office told us ten forty-five!" Heather exclaimed, almost leaping to her feet. Instead, she rubbed her forehead, to hide the fact that her eyebrow was ticking in impatience.

"Thinking about it, it does seem really early to have lunch," DJ contemplated out loud, but either no one heard him or didn't care.

Duncan, who had all but his spoon snatched away from him by Heather, had his arms crossed behind his head while he kept a vigil out for the missing starlet and her manager. At one point, around the seventh trip to the restroom, the male had pointedly asked Leshawna if either or both girl's were pregnant. The agent choked on her tea. After some judicious slapping on the back by DJ and her coughing had subsided, the woman vehemently denied it as a possibility.

"That girl's knees are locked together tighter than Fort Knox," Leshawna assured.

He was brewing with questions, comments, and anything really, to get Vieux to scrunch up her face and pinch her lips. She was cute when she was trying to hide how much he had already gotten under her skin.

When the missing ladies returned, Courtney pointedly ignored him. A tactic she'd tried a few times and each attempt was in vain as he was say something _around_ her and set her off. She was more flammable than gasoline.

"You have a hamster bladder or something?" He poked verbally.

Courtney ground out, "Or something."

Frustrated and with a full bladder, Heather stood up, and started to give orders.

"_I'm_ going to the bathroom. DJ try and find out where McLean is, and _you_," she glared and making sure to tower over Duncan for good measure, "Don't do anything that will get you—_tied_ _up_." Switching her gaze to the blonde woman, "Can you show me where the bathroom is?"

"Uh," Bridgette looked at Courtney who was mouthing the word 'no', then to Heather before letting her shoulders sag. "Sure."

_Great_, Courtney snarled mentally, as her scapegoat walked off with the enemy's mastermind.

"I'm going to go call McLean's office," DJ smiled, as he too stood up to take his leave for a few minutes.

"Wait, I'll go with you, one can call his office, the other his cell," Leshawna didn't even cast a glance to her starlet as she dropped her nail file in her purse and sauntered off after the taller man.

Two minutes ticked by in absolute silence which only bored Drake and allowed Vieux a small time of peace.

"Looks like we're finally alone, babe," Duncan wanted to burst out laughing when the prudish girl boxed her shoulders and kept her back to him. She had shifted away from him and draped her arm across the back of her chair, watching for her party to come back as attentively as a dog did for its master to come home.

Perking up his eyebrows, he brought them back down as his grin spread across his face. Quietly, he reached out to her exposed back and with his pointer finger, lightly traced the line of her exposed spine.

A shrill cry of surprise escaped her lips as she jolted from her seat, whirled around, and glared at the man. A man, she noted with rising temper, who was laughing at her reaction.

* * *

Heather, who had been washing her hands, sighed as she heard the commotion. Trying to keep Duncan out of trouble was like putting a bull in a shop full of china and expecting nothing to break. Adjusting her outfit, she briskly walked to where the blonde was lounging.

Bridgette, who sitting in one of the small chairs just inside the washroom, had both eyebrows hiked up in curiosity. The only time she'd heard her boss and friend reach that octave was when someone spilled green Jell-O on her at one of the many charity banquets. As the other woman came up to her, the blonde stood up, walked over to the door and pulled, on the handle.

Then she pulled harder.

She braced one foot on the door frame, and grabbed the handle with both hands and yanked with all her strength.

At the end, it was still door 3, Bridgette 0.

Huffing, the manager turned to the black-haired woman, who had her hands on her hips and an impatient look on her face.

"It's jammed or—locked."

"_What_?" Heather exclaimed. "Why would a bathroom be _locked_ from the _outside_!?"

x.X

"Ex-_cuse_ me," Leshawna said, "Did you just say it was _locked_?"

DJ scratched the back of his neck in a nervous manner, but nodded.

"Yeah, I can't make it budge. It doesn't look jammed, so it must be—locked."

The two who were trying to get a hold of McLean had spotted a small banquet room just outside the main dining area they'd been in. Both decided it would be better to duck into the room instead of stepping back into the heat and noise that waited outside. With their backs turned to the lobby and to each other as they made their phone calls, they had been ignorant when the door was silently shut and locked by someone with a mischievous giggle.

"We should probably wait until someone comes," DJ smiled down at the woman.

"That's _one_ way, and then there is the _other_ way," Leshawna tucked her phone away.

"What's that?"

"Bang on the door and scream until someone hears us," she stated a tick before she started to assault the door with her fists and call for a waiter, valet, or _anyone_ in earshot.

"That might be—faster." DJ agreed, joining the agent in the ruckus making.

* * *

"I can't believe you," the brunette hissed angrily.

"I know, I _am_ pretty unbelievable," Duncan replied with his trademark smirk. "I can pinch you to prove I'm real."

"Touch me and I will get my lawyers to sue you for sexual harassment!" She threatened, eyes flaring with rage at the male in front of her. They had been alone for only five minutes, but in that time, the other patrons felt as if they had ringside seats at a prize fight match.

"Like that's anything new," he rolled his eyes. "You'll have to come up with something better than _that_, sweetheart." Leaning back in his chair until it was balanced on the back two legs alone, he kicked his booted feet on the table top, folded his arms behind his head and smirked. "You want me."

Shock bumped aside her irritation only to be stomped out by her ire. "_What!_ Why would I _ever_ want _you!"_

"Everybody wants me," the man stated, spreading his arms open wide and grinning smugly at the girl.

"Still have that many bench warrants out there, do you?"

He chuckled, actually finding her snide remark amusing instead of insulting as she intended.

"Just admit it, babe, you want me _bad_."

Courtney knew right then and there she was going to name her first stroke after him.

"_Want _you?" She laughed coldly, "Like I want a flesh eating _disease_."

Not being able to resist, he winked at her and said, "I wouldn't mind taking a few bites."

Clenching her cosmetically perfect teeth, she wondered if a fork to the eyeball could be made to look like an accident. No, there were too many witnesses and she wasn't _that_ type of girl. Though the temptation to kick his chair and send him head over heels backwards made her grin. The idea brought the fact that his booted feet were _still_ on the white linen covered table to the forefront of her aggravation.

"And get your feet off the table that is _so_ disgusting."

At that, he rolled his eyes again, but put his feet and the four legs of the chair back on the floor.

"Listen,_—"_

"I mean, most people would _know_ not to behave like punk in public, at a _job interview_ no less. But I guess that's because you are just a _amateur _boy and that's the problem with you boys, always thinking with your—your—," Courtney verbally flailed, as a blush rose to her cheeks as she tried to think of a way to phrase a certain part of his anatomy. Instead she motioned her hand in the general direction of his pants and spat out, "—_little directors_."

Duncan's eyes shaded to a darker green as he put an elbow on the table and leaned into where the two-year-old in a babe's body was stewing.

"I was _not_ thinking with my 'director'," Duncan hissed, "and he is _far_ from little."

Scoffing, Courtney all but threw herself back in her chair and tightly crossed her arms against her stomach.

"_All_ guys think _that,_" she replied tartly.

"Want me to _show_ you to prove it, princess?"

"Ew!" her face turned a lovely red color as a look of pure horror crossed her features. "No! Why would you even _ask_ that_!_"

"Because you brought it up!"

"I didn't mean for you to bring _it_ out!"

"I would hate to leave you with any false ideas."

"But mentally scaring me for life is okay?"

"I'd like to think of it as making a lasting impression," he gave her the devil's smile and a wink.

Courtney eyed the door leading to the hallway the bathrooms were located on, in a desperate hope she would see the familiar, friendly blonde head returning. No such luck, fate was just scrapping his dog-doo covered shoe on her life at this moment—and _laughing_ about it.

* * *

"Is everyone _deaf_ at this place or _what_?" Leshawna massaged her forehead, trying to ease the tension. The last thing she needed was to develop wrinkles before she hit fifty, and even _then_ there was plastic surgery.

"Maybe they're all busy?" DJ offered, having given up on the shouting before the woman and taking a seat in one of the red and gold chairs lining a wall of the room.

"You don't understand, honey," the agent sighed, "if I don't get back out there, then _someone_ is going to get hurt." She crossed her arms and cocked out one side of her hips. "And most likely it's going to be your boy, Duncan."

"She isn't _that_ bad," DJ hoped, starting to worry for his friend and job. Sure Duncan would go toe-to-toe with any _man_ who crossed him, but the star never raised anything more than his voice to a girl. Glancing at the door anxiously, he turned back to the other occupant with a brittle smile, "Right?"

"Mmm, the girl is like field full of landmines, you never know when or _what_ is going to set her off."

DJ felt his normally placid nerves start to tie themselves into decorative knots.

"Maybe Heather is back there and the pretty girl you brought with you."

A foreign sound caught their attention. It was from within the room, and wasn't made from either of the representatives .They realized this as they stared at each other briefly in confusion.

It was head again, a distinct, bubbly _giggle. _

The third time they heard the noise DJ started toward the sound with Leshawna following closely behind him. In the corner furthest from the door, a pair of light brown pair of boots peeked from underneath a set of heavy red and gold velvet curtains. Both investigators shared a silent look before the woman nodded and the man reached out, grabbing a curtain with either hand, and yanked them apart.

"Oops!" the blonde put a hand to her mouth, as her giggly, amused expression melted into one of fret. In her other hand was a walkie-talkie.

"No," DJ started, as his co-prisoner crossed her arms and perked both eyebrows, "this isn't suspicious at _all."_

"How'd you two get _in_ here! I locked you out!"

DJ's face went blank in disbelief. Surely no one could be _that_ stupid.

"Locked us _out_?" Leshawna parroted, "you locked us _in_."

The blue-eyed newcomer blinked at the pair, though her eyes were warm and full of life, it was clear that the hamster was long time dead.

"Oh, uhm, sorry!" She gushed with a bright smile, and reached into her low cut red top, felt around and pulled out a key. "You two wait right here, I'll make sure to lock you _out_ this time. No, _in_." Panic and confusion crept into the woman's voice and covered her face. "Which one was it?"

Cocking an eyebrow up, Leshawna let her public-relations smile pull on her lips as she moved past DJ to the blonde. Putting an arm around the other woman's shoulders, the agent spoke in a comforting voice, "Why don't you let _me_ have the key and I'll make sure to lock us _out_ of here _for_ you."

* * *

Heather was going to _maim_ whoever thought that locking her in the bathroom was _funny _as she stuck her arm further out the tiny window. The reception was finicky in the dining area but it was completely non-existent in the ladies' room. She knew Duncan wouldn't answer her calls and automatically delete any texts, DJ was a possibility, but he could be anywhere and she needed out as soon as possible.

Duncan could be trusted for a few minutes, but it was nearing _seven_ and seven minutes with Duncan Drake was not heaven. He wasn't bad, but he was frustrated and sought to get under Heather's skin like tattoo ink. That, coupled with a pretty face, meant he was already _in_ trouble.

That's when she remembered the chauffeur, Geoff, surely he could come to their aide. After marching around the tiled room, striking several odd poses, trying to get the little satellite on her phone to light up, Bridgette came up with a better idea for them.

Thus, Heather was sitting on the surprisingly strong blonde woman's shoulders, body twisted as she pushed her arm out the small window.

"Anything?" Bridgette grunted, shifting her grip on Heater's knees. She had her back pressed against the wall, giving her some extra leverage. She was a surfer and though she was a strong swimmer, her power was in her _legs_ and Heather lied. Only on the _moon_ did the woman come anywhere close to 103 pounds!

"I—I think it sent!" Heather reported happily.

"Good," the blonde smiled, happy with the prospect of getting the agent off her back, literally.

"I'll send one to DJ _just_ in case."

Bridgette groaned.

* * *

There were a precious few times in Duncan's life when he was aware he went too far and actually regretted it. As the fiery brunette's face lit up in anger, he knew in his gut that this would be one of those occasions he _might_ live to regret, assuming the female left him alive.

"That's _it!_" Courtney shouted, jumping to her feet so fast that her poor chair tipped back on two legs and toppled over. The two had been so caught up in the other, either by teasing or temper, to realize they were alone in the place.

"I have _had_ it with you, you _ogre_," she continued, hands balled into tight fists at the end of her ramrod straight arms as she tried to bore a hole into Duncan's head with her glare. He didn't appear fazed at the outburst or the name calling; instead he arched an eyebrow as if silently willing her to continue.

"You are nothing but a perverted, trouble making, crude _punk_!"

"_Please_," Duncan replied with an arrogant grin, "That's listed on my resume."

Courtney's eye ticked and without giving one wit about her social standing, future career, or the possibility of ending up on every trash newspaper in the country, she made up her mind to maim the beast before her. He hadn't realized the look of insulted anger in her eyes and only when she hefted a chair over her head, all four of its legs sticking straight in the air, did his smirk slip from his face.

"H-hey, now," Duncan attempted, as the petite woman stepped closer to him, ready to break the piece of furniture over his head.

Courtney stole his smirk as she leaned back a bit further in order to assure the most bodily damage possible. She tightened her grip and then—

"_Brilliant! _Absolutely_ perfect!_"

The booming voice caused the two to jump, the chair-turned-weapon clattered loudly to the ground as both stars frantically began to glance around, trying to find the source. Courtney blinked back, the unexpected, happy voice breaking her fury, and took the focus off the actor who was quietly sighing in relief at the timely rescue.

"Who are you?" Courtney, still bubbling with aggravation, demanded to know as she glared at the ceiling with her hands on her hips. The voice had erupted from intercom system that was piped through large speakers suspended high above the tables.

"You two are _perfect_!" Came the same voice, but this time from the main entrance.

Dark brown and teal eyes landed on an average height, black-haired man in a blue shirt and tan pants, wearing square sunglasses on top of his head. His arms were spread wide, as if expecting a hug from someone.

Courtney was about to lob a chair or Duncan in his direction when a mountain of a man with thickly muscled arms and an apron appeared behind him. The woman was well of her fighting skill limitations, and the scary hulking man was nowhere _near_ someone she could handle. Even if he _didn't _stand so tall, or was s so thick, the butcher knife in his fisted hand would have decided it for her anyway.

The first man pulled out a handheld radio from behind him, and spoke into it, "Okay, let 'em out." He then tossed the radio on a nearby table as he started to draw closer to the befuddled two.

"Who the _hell_ is this guy?" Duncan questioned, standing up behind Courtney.

Crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes, Courtney stared death at the newcomer. "If I _knew_ I'd have my lawyers suing him already."

Duncan rolled his eyes and was about to volley a sharp reply when an angered outburst erupted from somewhere else in the restaurant. There was only one person who had such a volcanic temper, Heather. Great, he already had one riled up female and now a second one was probably thundering her way toward him.

"Who _are_ you!" Courtney added emphasis by stomping a foot. She was in the middle of a rant and sorely hated to be interrupted.

The man stopped just short of the table, making sure to stay at least a chair length away from the bristling brunette, crossed his arms and smirked. There was a blur of red and green from the hall and when it stopped, it turned out to be a woman who nearly _cackled_ as she gave a mock salute to the man.

"They're out boss," the red-head woman confirmed with a snickered while mirroring the wicked smile her 'boss' wore, "And tearing down the hall as we speak."

"And the others?"

Courtney glanced over her shoulder to Duncan. He caught her eye and shrugged at the silent question her saw on her face. When she turned back to the stranger, her scowling face lit in surprise to see her agent appear behind the unidentified trio, a confident smile across her face. DJ wore his happy-go-lucky grin and gave his boss a thumbs up in encouragement.

The black haired leader of the group opened his mouth only to have it just hang open in shock as Heather ran up to the table, panting from her brief jog, grabbed the star by his collar and wrench him toward her outraged face.

"_What_ did you _do?!"_ the woman snarled in demand. "What's going _on_?" She released him so she could cement her balled up fists on either side of her hips.

"Whoa, whoa!" Duncan held his hands up in surrender before pointing a finger toward the rapidly slowly recovering male she had completely missed or ignored. "Ask _him_."

Glaring over her shoulder, Heather's grey eyes enlarged before she shifted gears from _kill_ to _sweet_ as a smile kicked up on her lips.

"Mr. McLean!" She gushed, strutting between the flabbergasted actor and actress. "I am glad you finally made it!" There was a serious stretch and strain to Heather's tone.

"_You're_ Chris McLean?" Courtney squeaked, her hands covering her mouth in astonishment.

"That's right," Chris McLean crossed his arms and tilted his head up, as if prepared to accept the copious amount of praise (shameless sucking up) he was sure to receive. Bridgette finally returned, rubbing her sore shoulders and making a mental note to start working out her upper body more. When she saw the new trio, she blinked and glanced at the paled Courtney and then to the relaxed Leshawna, who waved her over and gave a brief explanation.

"It was a _lot_ of trouble to get you two alone, but it was worth it to see such passion, such emotions, and so much tension and you two only met!" The fame director winked at the bewildered two.

A pierce-scarred eyebrow rose, "What do you mean 'a lot of trouble'?"

"We set you up, of _course_, duh" the redhead woman replied with a chuckle and dark glint in her eyes. "How else do you think this restaurant was only filled with crew members?"

It was then that Courtney, blinking back the lack of perception glanced around to see that, indeed, everyone was smiling back at her or glowering, depending on the face. No wonder no one tried to get them to 'take it outside' or to calm her down. Shame colored her cheeks as she coughed into her hand to try and hide it and turned her face to the side.

"Set—" Heather's level of crazy soared as she balled up her fists and growled out, "_Up_? _You,"_ she jabbed McLean in his chest, "are the reason I was locked in a _bathroom_?!"

The copper head female beamed and with a hearty 'yeah-huh,' Heather promptly face-palmed, grumbling under her breath.

"I had to see what the two were like away from their nannies," Chris shrugged, his smile never fading. "And because of that, I can almost guarantee I'll pick them."

"_Almost_?" Everyone but the McLean crew stressed with disbelief. Would the nut job of a man really waste so much time and resources on two performers he _wasn't_ going to pick!?

"Yeah, _almost_," he then started to walk around the table, eying Courtney and Duncan from nose to toes. "Even though they have the firework potential, I still need to test them for actual ability to act, for agility, stunts, yadda yadda yadda."

Pride stepped back to the spotlight of Courtney's mind as she leveled a cold look at Chris, before stating, rather stiffly, "Excuse me, but I_ know_ how to act."

"Yeah," Chris replied, rubbing his hands together. "But I have to see if you can act _well_."


	4. Test Subjects

**Chapter 03**

* * *

**Authoress' Note: **Hey, I am so _totally _sorry for the late post! This was probably the most difficult part to write! I really have very little idea what goes into movie production and thankfully this story won't focus on the making of the movie so much ^^. The next chapter will be out a lot faster, I shwear!

* * *

Courtney was blushing. The entire population of the studio _knew_ she was blushing and just how much of her body colored when she blushed.

McLean had insisted, with a rather dark chuckle, that both of the stars be put through a series of—tests. Duncan had sneered and muttered about not being in school; Courtney grinned at the male's displeasure. Tests she could do with no problem. Before she started acting, she had been a book worm with all intent on being a ruthless yet compassionate lawyer for the underdog of society.

Instead, Drake was standing to the side of her, one hand on his cocked out hip and the other arm hanging down while he wore a shameless smirk, clearly basking in all the stares of the studio. It was only by her sheer mulish will that Courtney refused to cross her arms protectively over her chest. She did _not_ want to fuel any fantasies or give anyone another childish gesture for which to tease her about.

While Drake stood proud in a pair of green and black swim trunks, Courtney had to face the crowd in a French cut, low rise black bikini. Honestly! Her matching panty and bra sets had more fabric and provided more coverage! In a twisted way, she wished that Duncan had been made to wear something like a Speedo, but when the mental image her mind most un-welcomingly drew up, the girl felt her stomach twist as she shivered in repulsion.

It had been _Heather's _idea that the best view of the body, either male or female, was while in swimwear. Courtney had nearly burst into a fit of indignation, but Leshawna had put one hand on the starlet's shoulder to calm her client down. In the end, she had been handed the swimsuit and pointed to a changing area.

"Hmm," McLean hummed as he stood a few feet in front of the scantily clad duo. The hulking man who was only introduced as 'Chef' and Chris had been going back in forth in muttered-behind-hands observations and sagely head nods.

It was irritating that they were spending a better deal of time on _her _than on the punk.

Trying to keep her mind unfocused at the amount of skin currently being visually felt up, the woman hunted out her companions from the various unknown faces standing around the studio.

Leshawna was sitting in Courtney's designated chair, typing away on her cell phone. Even if she didn't look as if she cared or was paying attention, years of working with the agent let the assurance that the woman was as alert as a hawk. Even so, it still rubbed Courtney a tad on annoyed side to not have the agent trying to defend her, or at least persuade Mclean to make the body check _private._

A heartbeat later, Courtney colored to a bright red under the thought of what a 'private body check' might sound like to those outside of production. Perhaps this way was for the best.

Taking in a slow, steady breath, she did her best to ignore the gazes and hushed comments. Cutting her eyes to the director as he circled her, Courtney then looked to her best friend who kept a robe draped over an arm and a smile on her face. As encouragement, Bridgette gave two thumbs-up from where she stood by Leshawna.

"Well, she seems to have the right _tone_," Chris commented, rubbing his chin in thought. He inspected the possible lead for any flaws in the body. It was also to test the pair about being barely dressed. The script-writer and creator of the characters was specific of his wants in the lead roles, and McLean aimed to please (and to score a few more awards). Glancing around, the man sighed.

"Lindsay!" McLean bellowed, annoyed.

Duncan's eyebrows rose in mild interest when a bubbly blonde came scurrying up with a clip board in her hands and a pen tucked behind her ear. She was wearing a short red skirt, knee high cowboy boots, and a button down cream colored blouse. She was cute, Duncan could easily admit, but not really his type.

"Yes, Mr. Clean?"

Chris gave her a flat look, "It's _Mclean_, for the hundredth time, and you're supposed to be taking notes."

"Then don't you need the music guy?" Lindsay questioned, tipping her head to the side in curiosity.

Chef shook his head slowly, Chris gave her an even flatter look, and Courtney turned to eye the girl who, from what the starlet could tell, was honestly asking and not making some sort of joke.

"_No_," Chris stated, crossing his arms. "I need you to write down what I say about either Vieux or Drake, okay?"

Lindsay's smile faltered, before returning ten times stronger as she nodded her head enthusiastically. "I just need to get a pen," the woman chirped.

As she started to turn, Duncan rolled his eyes and quickly snagged the pen from behind her ear. Slapping a hand over her ear, the blonde whirled around, wide eyed at the bored looking star who was holding up a purple ink pen.

"How did you _do _that?" Lindsay questioned, as she slowly took the proffered writing utensil from him.

With his signature bad-boy smirk, Duncan crossed his arms and shrugged, "I am just _that_ good."

Courtney's eye-rolling did not go unseen by Drake and that made his smugness rise.

"Jealous, sweetheart?" he pestered in a hushed voice, trying not to interrupt the director as he marched around with his mini troop.

Hands firmly on her hips, she gave him a withering glare.

"_Piqued_," Courtney corrected snappishly. "You are the last person on earth who would ever be associated with the word 'good'."

"I don't know about that," Duncan all but purred, "In some ways I am _very _good. I've never been anything but _real _good with my _director_." As the woman went from angry, to appalled, and back to angry, the actor could only chuckle.

Burning an even brighter red, Courtney shoved her fisted hands straight down by her sides, refusing to look back at the creep who purposefully chose the worst times to pick on her. Then again, she considered, _any _time would have been horrible.

* * *

Duncan really did try his best. He thought of boring people, his previous school years, and ex-girlfriends. _Nothing_ helped in the long run and he utterly lost the war and laughed himself into tears. Thankfully he wasn't the only one who was all but wetting their pants at the sight of the high and mighty Courtney Vieux endeavoring to twirl, toss, and catch a three foot bamboo stick.

The best part was when she fumbled the stick, threw it up in the air, and was smacked down the middle of her face as she failed to catch it. Her encore was when she had tried to catch the errant stick and back stepped onto a wire, got her bare feet tangled, and landed on her rather shapely rump. Some of the crew had run to her, asking if she was all right, with the frustrated growl she let out, they assumed she was fine and backed off quickly.

"Okay, that's enough," the director sighed with a sad shake of his head. "I've seen enough."

Duncan snorted, wiping away a few stray tears from his eyes as he watched the starlet bristle.

"I _can_ do it!" Courtney growled, her grip tightening on the troublesome stick. _Why _she needed to be able to twirl like a flag line teenager, she didn't know and Chris wasn't coughing up any explanations. "I'm just—_rusty_ at this, that's all."

"More like corroded," Drake corrected with a grin, he had said it loud enough so that the hot-tempered baton twirling failure would hear him.

And heard him she had.

There was a growl, a stomped path to the star, and a solid _whack_ heard throughout the production building.

Chris, as well as every other male, visibly winced as Duncan let out a high-pitched whine, doubled over and then fell to the side, tears of pain pooling in his eyes as Courtney stood triumphantly over him with the stick resting on her shoulder as she drummed her fingers along its surface.

"At least she doesn't need help with her aim," Lindsay pointed out cheerfully.

"Yeah," McLean agreed slowly and after the sympathetic faded, a wicked smile formed on his face. Using his fingers, he made a frame around Courtney (from a safe distance of course). With the stick and the anger flowing off of her, she fit into her potential role more and more, despite the short comings.

She just _had_ to pass the next trial. The twirling could be taught with some level of dedication, but if she failed the next physical test, there was nothing to do but replace her.

* * *

Courtney couldn't help but feel self-satisfied with the new test. She stood with her feet shoulder length apart, and slowly began to bend her body back. To keep a safe balance, the starlet placed both hands on the floor and then shifted her weight from her legs to her hands. With a smirk, Courtney lifted one leg straight in the air as she simultaneously pointed the toes of her still grounded foot.

Lowering herself even further until she was able to place her forearms on the ground, she then lifted her leg until it met with its partner. Counting to three, as she was instructed to, she made her legs point in different directions, completing a full split while still relying on her upper body strength to keep her steady.

This test, Chris had made transparently clear, was one she had to ace. Thankfully for her, it was one of flexibility and agility. The brunette had kept a grin off her face, knowing that such a thing would be _easy_.

Her previous sitcom character was supposed to be an excellent gymnast, and half of the reason Courtney had landed the role was because she had been in gym, dance, and various other elegant physical activities since she was a child.

Not done making Chris eat his own doubt, lifted both legs until they pointed to the ceiling and then let them gracefully stretch until they were parallel to her shoulders creating a side split. When she felt that she had proven her point and then some, the honey skinned female repeated her earlier moves in reverse.

Upright once again, she shot a smug look at the director before moving on to the next prop.

Walking over to the pole, the other half of the trial, she frowned. The pole itself was not difficult but the fact that it, to her, resembled a _strippers_' pole, _did_ have her unhappy. Mentally shrugging it off, she wrapped a hand and a leg around the polished brass and coiled the rest of her body around it.

As she went through various positions, Chris and his staff weren't the only ones watching with wide eyes and thumping hearts.

Duncan wasn't sure if he was going to start drooling or if he should pick his jaw up off the ground in a weak attempt to be professional. Her level of flexibility wasn't just freaking _amazing,_ but the way she moved and slithered was out right _sexy_.

"Not bad," Chris assessed, not as affected by the display, "Just a few private lessons and she should be limber and bendable enough."

"I can give her some private lessons, I've already got the pole in my bedroom," Duncan offered eagerly.

"And you already got one to the groin," Leshawna pointed out, never looking up from her phone. "Do you really want another one?"

* * *

Courtney's eyebrow ticked as she sat _watching_ a test instead of being a participant. Chris, Chef, and Lindsay sat in front of her. They were waiting on a raised platform overlooking a labyrinth of stone, vegetation, and other types of walls. She'd recognized the set from one of the eighties movies that was going to be remade in the near future. As for the moment, Chris had commandeered it to use against Duncan.

Bridgette climbed the steps and stood beside her, handing the brunette a Styrofoam cup of hot tea. Leshawna declared that she had an appointment to get her hair done and to text if they needed anything. Courtney had been irked, but quickly let the feeling go when the insane director chuckled and rubbed his hands together declaring it was now Duncan's turn to prove himself.

"What's going on?" the blonde whispered, eying the setup curiously.

A tweak of her lips had the starlet with a hint of a grin before she spoke, "Drake has to get to the center of the maze and back out."

Bridgette stood on her tip toes to see over the trio. After what McLean had put her friend through, this trial hardly seemed equal. What was the big deal if the guy had to snake his way through some bushes and bricks?

"And you're _okay_ with this?" Bridgette questioned softly as she lowered herself until she was flatfooted again.

The expression on Courtney's face could only be described as fiendishly evil and the blonde manager leaned away from the malicious woman.

"Oh, that's the _easy_ part," the starlet nearly purred.

Quirking an eyebrow, Bridgette edged closer to the lip of the platform to have a better view of the test. Her eyebrows perked as she saw the insane curly-haired red head, Izzy, crouching behind a shrub clipped into the shape of a rearing horse. In her hands was a riffle that honestly looked too heavy for the woman's slight body.

Izzy shifted her focus from one section of the short dead-end she was guarding, a wicked grin plastered on her face. Then again, Bridgette mused, that seemed to be the _only _expression the woman ever had.

Pointing down at the huntress, the blonde observer would later wonder why she wasn't as disturbed as she should have been by all this, but asked, "Why does she have a gun?"

Chris leaned back, his eyebrows lowered, giving him a distinctly devilish appearance as the corner of his mouth kicked back in a grin.

"Because this is a _survival_ test," he started. "Duncan's character has to be able to dodge very well, if not, he could get seriously hurt on set. You wouldn't believe how hard blood is to get out of camera equipment."

The chef and Chris shared a quick, knowing gaze and both chuckled under their breaths.

Deciding that not knowing was the better way to go, the blonde stepped away from the men and stood at Courtney's side. Crossing her arms and one foot over the other, she tipped her head to the side, morbidly curious how well Drake would do against the inane redhead.

"And, _go!_" The director shouted through his megaphone. The studio lights dimmed, and on the farthest wall, a door slid open and Duncan swaggered out with a hotshot smile on his face as he glanced up at the platform and saluted.

Courtney rolled her eyes.

Duncan darted into the maze without a breath's hesitation. The self-assured smirk of inevitable success was stretched on his lips. In his mind, he'd already conquered this thing and would be commended for being so able-bodied unlike his potential co-star. He would show her how a _real_ professional did things.

He easily made his way through the brick-wall part of the maze, and started to slow as the thick foliage loomed all around him. As he strode purposefully through another opening, confident he knew the way, a peculiar sound caused him to pause.

Was he losing it or did he hear a girl's giggle? Not even a happy or flirty giggle, but one that meant a man somewhere was going to suffer for some perceived wrong with his life, or worse, his _pride_.

_Pop!_

A small, sharp pain flared from his neck, slapping a hand over the offended spot, the star pulled a small feathered projectile from his skin.

"What the—?!" Duncan's eyes started to cross, as a wave of dizziness overcame his senses. Shaking his head, as if to clear away the sudden symptoms, he forced himself to focus on a deep green leaf that was sprouting off the shrub in front of him.

Once the initial vertigo passed, the man sought out the platform where he knew the director was watching.

"What the hell?" Duncan shouted, waving the feathered dart around for emphasis.

"Oh, yeah," Chris started speaking into a small microphone that was sitting in front of him on the table between his cup of coffee and clipboard, "Did I mention you'd be _hunted _throughout this exercise?"

Though Duncan couldn't see it, the older man shrugged and crossed his arms behind his head.

"Don't worry, the guns are only loaded with low-level tranquilizers, just enough to slow you down when hit. Nothing lethal—I think."

He then punctuated the sentence with a cruel and amused chuckle before cutting the feed.

Frowning, Duncan heard the same _pop_ sound as before and instantly hit the ground to protect himself from another dart. He started to low crawl, keeping his eyes on the greenery for any sign of disturbance. He hadn't spent a good part of his early teen years stuck in military schools without learning _something_ about being sneaking (okay, sneaki_er_) around those who were armed.

On top of the platform, Bridgette's jaw was still lax in shock of Chris' "forgotten" confession. She watched Duncan try to work his way under a wall of bushes, only to curse loudly at the same time that McLean pressed a button on a small control panel she hadn't noticed before. She was finally beginning to understand why Courtney seemed so smugly pleased.

Courtney got crazy spread out through the day; Duncan was getting the condensed version.

"Nuh-uh," Chris chuckled into the microphone, "No cheating, Duncan, or you'll get another zap."

Growling, Duncan decided it would be better to risk hot-footing it and ending this before he ended up a drooling, electrocuted McLean mishap. Jumping to his feet, Drake broke into a run. Behind him, he heard the inane giggler and the steady _pop_ of the tranquilizer gun being fired. Zigzagging along the path and taking random turns, he hoped to avoid the majority of the darts.

His self-confidence was starting to recover from the earlier blow, as he chanced a grin over his shoulder, when the ground beneath his feet suddenly disappeared. Plunging beneath the cold surface, he broke through the top, treading water and coughing a fair portion up.

Several unflattering curses escaped his lips as he started to swim to the other side of the oddly placed pool, not knowing if any role was worth the humiliation. So intent on reaching the other side and _not _trying to focus on what he was going to do to a certain director's car, Duncan never heard his pursuer reach the edge of the pond.

"Like fish in a barrel," the gunner smirked as she aimed her weapon, caught the dark-haired man in the cross-hairs, and fired.

_Pop! Pop! Pop!_

Repeatedly.

"People usually float, right?" Chris questioned lightly to the Chef as everyone stared at the pond Duncan had been in, was _still _in, somewhere. A few bubbles broke the surface, but no sign of the actor.

"Only after they've been dead a few days," Chef Hatchet shrugged.

* * *

"He is a friggin' maniac," Duncan groused, holding an icepack to his forehead as he glared at the ever cool Heather.

"Point?" She wanted to know, not even ceasing from her nail filing to pretend to be concerned.

"How am I going to _survive_ shooting for this movie with him trying to kill me _before _I even have my contract finalized?!" He yelped, wincing at the throbs his raised voice caused in his brain.

Sighing, she inspected her fingernails before gifting him the courtesy of eye-contact.

"McLean has never harmed an actor without hiring them first."

Duncan's teal eyes widened considerably, "I almost _drowned_!"

"Almost doesn't count you big baby," Heather replied tersely. "Besides, you should be happy that they didn't have you wrestle the crocodile like they'd originally planned." Duncan visibly paled, not that the agent cared or acknowledged. "You only had that _one _test; I heard Vieux was put through a real workout."

His lips twisted into a sardonic smile at the mention of his co-star's day. It might have been cruel, but he felt like the girl could be knocked down a few pegs and embarrassment was the quickest way to do it. Though, he had to admit (mentally for the protection of his—more important male parts), Courtney looked incredibly hot when she was mad.

The way her cheeks would take on a pink-peach hue instead of blaring red when her buttons were being pressed, shoulders would square, and her delicate hands would tighten into fists at her side. Oh, yes all that was divine but what he really, _really_ liked was the fiery part of her blazing in her big brown eyes. Not to mention that she often took deep breaths, causing her chest to heave.

Hey, he _was _still a guy and those—attributes did not go unnoticed.

Heather's professionally shaped eyebrow rose slightly as Duncan's mouth twitched into a deeper grin and his eyes clouded over with—something. He looked like a kid who had just caught sight of the biggest, gooiest chocolate cake ever, handed a fork, and told to dig in.

* * *

Duncan, popped his neck to the left as he held up his copy of the roughed out script. It was only one scene out of many, but McLean was insistent on the dry run being _that _particular clip. Yawing as he read over the few lines and the wanted dramatics, the young actor couldn't distinguish anything particularly phenomenal about the scene. It seemed to be a pretty cut and dry dialogue between the hero and the anti-hero (called so because the word 'villain' was _so _passé).

Flicking his eyes to the brunette, he lifted an eyebrow as she stood perfectly still, nibbling her lip and scrutinizing her copy of the script with an intensity he'd only seen girls' wear when they were trying to decide between a pair of shoes.

Courtney reread the lines several times, examining them from every angle possible in her mind. From the very brief description given on the character she was to portray, the woman was hurt and angry but also caring and conflicted. It sounded like it would be easy to bring all this out for the screen but a niggling doubt burrowed its way into her brain.

This wasn't a type-cast character that required minimal effort. This wasn't her safe and sterile television stage set, this was bigger. This was for the movies. Any number of seasoned pros and hungry struggling actresses would _kill_ (bribe and bed, too) to get this chance handed to them. Unlike her previous work, she was replaceable.

Swallowing the foreign and heavy ball of doubt and anxiety that formed in her throat, she glanced up to see the highly stress-inducing downfall to accepting this role. She twisted her mouth into a frown at seeing Duncan Drake casually read over his parts with a look of boredom, as if this was the last thing he ever wanted to be caught doing.

Figures.

She was on one side of the try-out sweating with her blood-pressure rising to near catastrophic levels and _he_ was the poster child of chilled.

_Jerk_, Courtney thought bitterly, huffed and returned her attention back to the script.

A few minutes later, Chris and his closest crew of maniacs were seated behind a long table, facing the impromptu set of a blaring light, a chair and a baton (much to Courtney's irritation). She recognized each studious or spaced-out face save for one.

There was no way she could have missed him earlier, the man was _huge_. He almost matched the height of the creepy, cleaver-carrying chef and was as wide as he was tall. Blonde hair was neatly (if not a bit on the nerdy side) combed forward and his attire was one of a white shirt, a tie with little green maple leaves, green cargo pants and on the bridge of small nose, sat a pair of square sunglasses.

He wasn't introduced and Courtney shrugged him off as one of the cooperate lackeys. Then again, given the strangeness that was Chris McLean's thinking, he could have pulled some random guy off the street just to fill in the extra space.

"Okay, so in _this_ scene, we have the girl, Mila, and guy, Phy, meeting up after her first trial run," Chris explained, "She is about the barf all over the roof when Phy makes his appearance." Turning his attention to Duncan, he continued, "I wanna really believe that you are trying to persuade her," switching over to Courtney, "and you have to sell me that you are not just physically ill, but heart sick as well."

Hiking up an eyebrow, Courtney glanced at Duncan who shot her a similar lost look a heartbeat before he allowed the confidence that bleed from his pores shift his lips into a grin.

Gritting her teeth, and crinkling the script in her grip, she waited for her co-star to make his 'appearance'.

"_Go!_" Chris declared with a clap of his hands.

"So," the actor leisurely took a few steps toward the starlet. "I see you've had the—" he tucked a grin on his face as the tip of his tongue ran across the top row of teeth, as if seeking the proper word, "—_pleasure_ of playing with my gifts."

He let the grin fade as he drew still closer to Courtney's immobile frame; he circled around her in the same lazy manner, before stopping, his breath ghosting across her neck and cheek as he continued to speak in a low, toe-tingling voice.

"Did you enjoy losing yourself in the primal passion? How did you feel when you made his flesh quiver with unspoken, or perhaps screamed out, need? Could you feel the excitement in the air as you claimed him, dominated him, repeatedly?" Duncan rolled the words of his tongue as smooth and warm as chocolate melting in the sun.

Courtney's was unexplainably dry. His cologne was heavy but not thick, a distinct and relaxing scent that promised to linger on whatever he touched. She'd been apprehensive when Duncan leaned in, but his breath was sweet with a faint tinge of mint. At least he was standing behind her so she didn't have to look directly in his eyes, which had been half-hooded with the promise of him sharing some delectable secrets when he'd walked to her.

It wasn't until a cough from the judging audience that the spell of Duncan's spell shattered and she took a firm hold of herself and pushed forward. If he was doing his best, she'd do better than her best.

With that determination in mind she took a deep breath and started to recite her lines.


End file.
